


Kiss The Cook

by OfScarletLetters



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Sex, Christmas Fluff, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Holiday Fic Exchange, Light Angst, M/M, Sex and Chocolate, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfScarletLetters/pseuds/OfScarletLetters
Summary: He could watch the snow fall all over Manhattan while he’s snuggled warm against the body he craves, the person he wants to hold most dear instead of churning out reports until his eyes blur and his fingers cramp.He wants to go home to Malcolm, and he wishes time were on his side.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20
Collections: Prodigal Son Holidays Fic Exchange





	Kiss The Cook

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAustrianZebra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAustrianZebra/gifts).



> I hope you all enjoy this piece as much as I did when I wrote it, and to my lovely giftee, I hope this is gift is the present you asked for under the tree this year. I think it has enough smut to tie you over 'til the New Year. Merry Christmas to all, and happy holidays!

Gil has been eyeing the clock ever since he walked into the precinct that morning. By some miraculous feat, he was told he could go home right before rush hour hits, and could return to his station at noon the next day. Being able to sleep in has never received a complaint from Gil, especially when he’s subject to be called in during the holidays. Unfortunately, crime never sleeps, even on the most joyous days of the year.

The thing is, today just so happens to be Christmas Eve, and about four minutes ago, Malcolm sent a picture of himself lounging on the couch with a cup of tea in his hand and an opened book in his lap. Gil can tell by his slightly narrowed eyes there’s a grin hiding behind the mug, and he can’t help but smile too.

Underneath the photo says very plainly, “Missing You”.

As he scans the clock for the hundredth time, his mind wanders to the couch in the loft, and how he could have Malcolm laying between him while they talked about nothing, enjoying each other’s company while music plays softly in the background. He could watch the snow fall over Manhattan while he’s snuggled warm against the body he craves, the person he wants to hold most dear instead of churning out reports until his eyes blur and his fingers cramp.

He wants to go home to Malcolm, and he wishes time were on his side.

Thirty minutes passes like molasses.

Before he knows it, he is called out to the field in the frigid weather for a double homicide at a Christmas party crashed by two mediocre assailants seeking revenge. The case is pretty cut and dry, so when he strolls into the station, a freshly brewed cup of coffee in hand, the report doesn’t take long to write up and toss to the side.

He buries himself in work and answers emails without thinking to check the time. It’s not until he receives another text message from Malcolm that in four minutes, he’s a free man.

Clearly, Malcolm is just as eager for him to come home.

Gil doesn’t even bother with opening the text. He’s quick on his feet to sign off on this last report, logs out of his computer, and immediately starts rearranging the files on his desk in an order he will understand in the morning. He grabs his coat from the rack, his keys from his desk, and tucks his phone in his back pocket as he heads out the door.

Nerves dance under his skin, firing off while he shoots a few short “Merry Christmas” goodbyes to the uniforms on the way out to his car. The itch to get home burns like nothing else, and it’s a race against time to run back home to his partner patiently awaiting his return.

Once he gets to the door of the building, Gil fumbles at the final stretch with his set of keys between his fingers in search of the silver band Malcolm gave him years ago. The dim light from the street lamps gives him enough clarity to illuminate the key he’s looking for, then he shoves it into the lock and twists until he hears the sharp click, and pulls it back out.

He hides the buzz of excitement underneath a neutral expression as if he didn’t break a few laws just to find his way back home. The pull of the handle grants him entrance, and Gil stalks up the stairs step by step, anticipation tight enough to quicken his pulse and leave his heart in his throat.

Cool air hits him when he opens the front door, and is greeted by the sound of the stereo and Malcolm’s beautiful voice humming along to the tune of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” while bent over a steaming pot on the stove and an opened cook book on the counter to his right.

Like a scene straight out of any Christmas movie he can think of – or, the start of a really awful nightmare – Gil comes home to a fresh meal being prepared after a long day of work, music on the stereo, the snow flurries across the window, and the beautiful view of Malcolm’s back underneath an apron and sweatpants.

Gil guesses he didn’t hear the door open, so he gingerly drops his bag by the door, and slowly closes it behind him to lean up against the frame for a better look at his partner at work. Cooking, no less. He forces himself to still his beating heart to take a breather and bask in the serene atmosphere of the loft.

The sentiment makes his heart swell with something stronger than love, more potent than words could ever describe.

Even though Gil can watch Malcolm all night like this and remain perfectly content, he’s traveled all this way for his love, and he doesn’t want to waste another second without him.

An easy smile spreads across his face. “What are you making?”

Malcolm halts his reach for the wooden spoon on the counter and turns to face Gil, surprise in his expression as the restlessness in his body fades, and he can relax again. “Hey,” Malcolm breathes out, unable to contain his smile.

Gil pushes off the door frame and walks over to Malcolm waiting for him by the stove, his stride cool and even unlike the eagerness in his bones and under his fingertips. He rests his hands on Malcolm’s waist as arms wrap around the back of his neck and pulls him in close, lips only a couple inches apart. They slide together like perfect puzzle pieces. “Hi.”

They haven’t seen each other for four days. Four whole days of just phone calls and texts – though neither of them really minded – while Gil was stuck at work putting in extra hours for rampant homicides and petty crimes that weren’t gruesome or morbid to warrant a professional consultant.

On Malcolm’s end, he’s been at his mother’s beckon call for her annual holiday donations and the few charity parties their family were sent invitations to. Making appearances wasn’t how Malcolm envisioned spending the days up to Christmas. Though he doesn’t consider himself to be a clingy partner by any means, he misses Gil’s warm embrace and the peace his loft brings him.

Home is within each other, and this is how they’d rather spend their holidays. Wrapped and entangled with each other until the sun came up until eventually one of them had to leave.

“Welcome home,” Malcolm says, and closes the distance between them with a light peck. “I’ve missed you.”

Gil hums and returns the chaste kiss. “I’ve missed you too, Bright.” With a slight step forward, Gil catches Malcolm by the hip, then his lower back collides with the cool countertop right below the knot of the apron. His eyes scan over the small body before him, obscured by the fabric, yet Gil doesn’t need to remove it to see what hides underneath. He dwells on the fact a bit longer than he should. “Never thought I’d see you in an apron.”

Initially, Malcolm shrugs, then a playful smile creeps up on his lips. “I thought it looked nice in the window.”

“You bought it?” Gil looks over the fabric once more for a price point that's acceptable for a garment worn in the kitchen. Something in his gut tells him it’s just as expensive as one of the many t-shirts Malcolm wears with his sweats.

The slightest bit of worry creeps up in the back of his mind; maybe the surprise was in poor taste. “You don’t like it?”

Gil hums. “I think it looks nice,” he says with a genuine smile mirroring Malcolm’s.

He gets up on his toes and plants a quick kiss to Gil’s cheek, warm from the sentiment. Malcolm makes a mental note to wear it more often. “Thank you.”

“What’s all this?” Gil asks, rounding the corner of the island. On top of the marble is what Gil presumes is a layered chocolate cake with icing to match on a gold stand, and two empty mugs just a few inches away. He raises his eyebrows and nods his head in approval at the quaint display, a grand and romantic gesture that seldom appears from Malcolm. “Did you bake this?”

“Oh, god no,” Malcolm dismisses him with a laugh and a swat of his hand. “However, there is a wonderful bakery a few blocks from here and I thought you might want to try their amazing dark chocolate cake.”

“So, what’s this on the stove?” he asks, brows rising.

His expression falters. “Well,” Malcolm rubs the back of his neck with his palm, “it was supposed to be chicken pozole, but I’m not sure how much of it is salvageable.” He glances over at the pot on the stove with a medium heat still rolling, then grabs the wooden spoon and stirs. “It was one of my favorite meals growing up, and I thought it’d be nice if I could share it with you.”

He makes no point to turn around and face Gil, his words softly fading out at the end of his sentence.

Gil doesn’t force a comment and grabs a spoon from the drawer next to him. He leans his hip against the counter with an expectant look. “May I?”

Malcolm’s stirring comes to a complete stop and he looks up at Gil, hesitant and unsure. Cooking is one of the few things he can’t seem to grasp without burning everything to a crisp or following a simple recipe without something going wrong. He’s placed himself under immense pressure to get _something_ right – at the very least edible – because tonight is a special dinner for two, and Gil’s opinion means the world to him.

He just wants to be proud of his work, and it will feel more special to him if his partner can enjoy it as well.

Realizing Gil isn’t going to take no for an answer, Malcolm steps away from the pot with a small gesture of his hand.

Gil gently blows the broth until he feels like it’s cool enough to take a bite. Warmth spreads on his mouth at the near-perfect temperature, the flavor of the smoky stew coats his tongue. “My compliments to the chef.” Malcolm practically lights up at that, eyes wide as some of his insecurities melt away with the soup. “Could use a little more salt, though,” he smirks, and drowns Malcolm’s pout with a quick kiss. “Is it almost ready?”

Malcolm turns off the burner and sets the spoon aside. “I think so. After I add some more salt to it,” his incredulous look earns a chuckle.

“Come on, I’ll help you set up.”

They move around each other in a rhythm they’ve grown accustomed to over the years. Like a dance routine practiced over and over, they help each other settle in the kitchen with their bowls and silverware until they end up next to each other, leaving no space between them as they eat in comfortable silence. The stereo plays in the background as they fall into easy conversation towards the end of their meals, Gil recanting a few cases from work while Malcolm listens intently, only offering his insight on occasion.

He manages to finish a good portion of his meal while Gil leaves no trace behind, and reassures Malcolm with praise for his lovely attempt at dinner for two.

With another tender kiss, Gil promises his return after a hot shower and disappears into the bathroom, leaving Malcolm to finish cleaning up in the kitchen (not that he minds). Fifteen minutes feel like pure agony. Every second drags longer than the one before it as Malcolm busies himself with the kitchen that doesn’t need further cleaning. He anxiously checks the clock every two minutes even though time has only moved an inch, his hands fidgeting at his sides with nothing to do.

An idea crosses his mind, and gives him something to look forward to when Gil gets out.

Several minutes later, clad in nothing but a navy towel snug around the waist with loose strands of damp hair sticking to the sides, Gil finally steps out of the bathroom with a trail of steam behind him. A chill runs down his spine at the bite of cool air that hits his warm, flushed skin as goosebumps grace the surface. He pushes the feeling aside with a quick shake of his arms and immediately scans the room for his partner.

Suddenly, Gil huffs out a laugh from deep in his chest. Walking around the kitchen with the apron tied tightly against his lower back, Malcolm hums to the quiet rumble of the stereo while he nurses a slice of cake. However, in the fifteen minutes that he was gone, Malcolm has somehow lost his pants entirely and shucked his socks off despite the cool temperature of the room.

So, he stands naked in the middle of the kitchen with nothing but an apron on and a plate of perfectly sliced, untouched cake as if it’s something they are already accustomed to.

“You’re not cold?” Gil asks from across the room, the humored disbelief evident in his voice.

Malcolm shrugs and stabs the slice right in the middle with his fork. “The heater’s working overtime.” With a curl of a smirk, he abandons the slice on the island and leans against the marble with all of his weight on his arm to hold him up. “But, if you’re cold, I can think of a few ways that’ll warm you up.”

His cheeky grin doesn’t go unnoticed, but instead, Gil mirrors confusion despite his horrible attempt to hide his smile as he walks over to the kitchen. He stops just a few inches short of Malcolm, his lean, wet figure towering over him in just a towel, and the smell of cedar surrounding them. “I don’t think I follow,” he says, feigned aloofness in his tone. “Can you explain it to me?”

Malcolm’s eyes drift to the towel, then back up at Gil’s face with his smirk still holding. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

Gil takes a half step forward, a clear shot of the towel close enough for Malcolm to tear it off with his teeth if he so desired. “Is that so?” He playfully narrows his eyes then glances over at the abandoned slice of cake. “I was kind of looking forward to a bite of that cake.”

Malcolm hums. Then, he stands up from the counter with a hand smoothing the apron down the sides, but doesn’t take the step forward to close the gap yet. Instead, he turns towards the plate and plucks the fork from the top, and balances a piece of cake between the prongs. He curls his finger, and Gil stalks forward.

Malcolm patiently waits for Gil to open his mouth. Gil bites down on the fork when Malcolm offers it to him, then slides his tongue on the underside to clean up the left behind streaks of frosting. He immediately hums in approval of the taste as he chews through it. Somehow, it tastes expensive. After the first bite, Malcolm doesn’t wait for Gil to finish before he gives him another piece, but Gil eagerly welcomes the piece into his mouth and continues to chew while he keeps his eyes on his partner.

Seemingly content, Malcolm watches his partner through a heated gaze and blown pupils, pleased that he actually enjoys the cake he bought.

“Missed a spot,” Malcolm says, dropping the fork to the plate as he steps forward until the only thing that separates them is the cloth of the apron. Settling his hands on the waistline of the towel, Malcolm gets on his tiptoes and wets his lips with his tongue, then licks the smallest bit of chocolate from the corners of Gil’s mouth.

That little bit of tease is enough to drive Gil’s hands to his hips again and his lips into Malcolm’s for a bruising kiss. The rich taste of chocolate evades his mouth when Gil wastes no time shoving his tongue in, and Malcolm surrenders his control without a fight. His arms wrap around Gil’s neck to bring him closer, moaning into his mouth when Gil deepens the kiss as his hands start to travel down his backside. The cloth of the apron chafes in the most annoying way possible, trapping his erection without the ability for any friction.

Then, Gil pulls back, breathless but his expression clouded with lust, and sinks his teeth into Malcolm’s neck, earning a sharp cry of surprise. “You taste good,” Gil murmurs, lips pressed to his neck. The grip on his hips turns possessive as he pulls Malcolm impossibly closer, almost a low growl in his throat while he leaves a trail of purple right above his collarbone. “I could do this all night.”

“We can,” Malcolm says, threading his fingers through Gil’s hair as he cradles his head. “I know you’ve had a long day,” he cuts off as his head starts to swim, unable to bite back the moan after the swivel of Girl’s tongue on his skin. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

For a moment, Gil abruptly stops, curls an arm around Malcolm’s waist, and grabs him hard enough to spin him around so his back is against Gil’s chest, situating his hands on Malcolm’s hips again. He doesn’t give him time to react; in one swift movement, Malcolm is shoved against the counter, and catches the counter with his palms right before his chest collides with his knuckles. Gil’s front presses into his bare backside as the towel remains intact, tight around the waist but does nothing to hide his growing arousal beneath it.

He leans down to Malcolm’s ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down his spine and straight to his groin. “Trust me, I want to.”

It all happens so fast. How they ended up here, Malcolm straddling Gil’s lap with his arms around his neck and Gil’s eyes fixated on him like he is his entire world, Malcolm still isn’t sure. One minute, they were trading hungry kisses in the kitchen while Gil pushed Malcolm against the counter, the next minute they’re both naked and hard, overcome with a slew of emotions that fuels their desire for each other like a drug they keep coming back for.

Sex isn’t something that requires much thought; it’s on special nights like these, they want to take things slow without the rush to chase that high. After days of not being able to see each other and nights spent chasing criminals into alleyways, tonight is spurred on by their need for each other, and the need to convey their yearning.

“Ready?” Gil’s lips brush along his chin again while his eyes search for Malcolm’s in the dark. Always gentle yet firm with him, Gil constantly checks in with Malcolm before they move forward, and always reminds him with the softest touch just how much he adores him. He settles his hands on Malcolm’s hips and firmly presses down to keep his insistent squirming in check.

Malcolm shudders at the feel of Gil’s cock slick against his ass, prepped and ready to take him. He answers Gil with a bruising, needy kiss and a soft moan against their clashing lips, trying to buck his hips for more friction but he is left bound and empty by Gil’s grasp. “Please,” he whispers, voice raspy, “I need you.”

Gil doesn’t have to be told twice. One hand lets go of Malcolm and fumbles below his thighs to grab his cock, and Malcolm leans forward against Gil and cranes his neck to watch Gil work underneath him. The anticipation makes him impossibly hard to the point where it becomes almost painful, his own cock flushed and throbbing against his stomach, eager for the slightest bit of attention.

Even with their languid prep from earlier and the promise to take things slower than usual, the feel of Gil always overrides all thought, and the pressure from his thickness sends shivers down his spine and brings tears to his eyes when he hits it just right. Once he feels the tip beginning to push in, still leaning on his knees in Gil’s lap, Malcolm turns his head around to face Gil and watches his expression as they slowly start to become one.

The slide is nothing short of euphoric. A deep moan from his chest falls from Malcolm’s lips as he takes Gil inch by inch. His jaw slacks as he tries to relax, one hand gripping his ass cheek while he clings to Gil with his arm wrapped around his neck, and shifts his weight to his knees as he slowly drops down on his lap. They mirror each other’s expressions of ecstasy, too caught up in the warm heat of the other like it’s their first night together all over again.

A tiny whine breaks from him once he sinks down and bottoms out, and gives himself a moment to adjust.

At the pull of his rim, Gil sucks a breath through his teeth at the pressure. “You’re tight,” he huffs out, eyeing the lube that’s an arm’s length away. The thought quickly disappears when he sees the look of bliss on Malcolm’s face above him, eyes squeezed tight with his lips slightly parted, his brows dipping. “You like that, don’t you?” It’s no secret that a little bit of pain during sex goes a long way, a preference Malcolm hardly ever rejects, so he doesn’t need to answer for it.

Instead, his hands fall to his thighs as he rolls his hips in search of that friction he craves so much. Once he realizes what Malcolm is trying to do, Gil’s hands fly to his lower back and grips his skin once more, enjoying the view of Malcolm bouncing up and down and the sound of their thighs slapping together in the loft.

The way his mouth hangs open in stuttered pleasure, a pained expression with a softness to it has to be one of the greatest things Gil has ever seen. For Malcolm to take what he wants is rare, and to watch him shed some of that control he struggles to maintain is just the icing on the cake. The thud of their thighs becomes more apparent as Malcolm drops down harder in his lap, hungrier, deep in the chase of the thrill like he can’t get enough. Like he’s still unsatisfied.

Between Malcolm’s beautiful voice and the soft grunts of Gil below him trying to restrain himself from flipping Malcolm over completely, a steady rhythm builds. Pleasure so steep it leaves Malcolm breathless and dizzy from the climb, and he’s starting to cave the closer he comes to the top.

“I love you,” Malcolm blurts out as he slows his pace and curses at the sharp line of electricity that sparks through his body. “God, I love you so much.” Gil blinks in surprise at the suddenness, but it’s quickly overshadowed by something deeper than lust and too complex for words to define.

Even with his hair tossed and plastered to his forehead with sweat, his voice strained from the pleasure that keeps him suspended on the edge, and his body bent out of shape at Gil’s expense, he still manages to look as beautiful as he does when he wears one of his many suits. It’s a complex feeling he can’t quite put into words at the moment, but it puts him in a dream-like trance that has him thanking his lucky stars, completely and utterly captivated.

Gil cups Malcolm’s ass with his hands and pulls him forward, then slides them over his thighs to rest on his hips, thumbs gently pressing into his stomach. Wordlessly, he drinks in the sight in front of him, _for_ him, entranced by the grace of his partner in their most intimate.

“Gil.” Less of a question, more of a call. Malcolm’s brows dip as he searches his face for an answer, something he fails to recognize, the reason why he hasn’t said it back. The brief pause is minor, yet it feels so out of place. For as long as they’ve been together, Malcolm is usually on the receiving end of Gil’s constant reminders of how much he means to him, of how much he loves him even on the days when Malcolm struggles to see it for himself.

Right now, his sudden silence gives life to his deepest insecurities.

Words don’t come easy for Malcolm, and even if they did, he chokes right before he spills, and ever thinking out loud. He doesn’t say these words often as if they’re a burden too heavy to carry, but when he does, it's always unexpected, and always catches Gil off guard.

Gil is no profiler, but it doesn’t take a detective to notice the tiniest change in his partner’s frame and the love that is slowly succumbing to the fear of rejection.

“Come here,” Gil says softly, taking one hand off his hip to cup Malcolm’s face in his palm. He rubs small, soothing circles on his cheek with his thumb as he searches his partner’s face, his own panic nearly scratching the surface. Timidly, Malcolm ducks his head into Gil’s hand with his eyes cast down.

Miscommunication is rare. When it happens, they find themselves at a delicate crossroads, both equally hurt, unsure of what to say or who should bridge the gap first. If Gil has learned anything from being on the force for over twenty years, one of the first priorities is to deescalate the situation.

“I love you, Malcolm.” Gil starts, calm and sincere. “I love you more than you will ever know, and I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise.” He presses a soft kiss to Malcolm’s temple. “I am nothing without you. You mean the absolute world to me, and I am the luckiest man on alive because I get to wake up next to you every single day. Everything about you is beautiful; I can’t think of any other way I’d rather have you, and if I need to remind you a thousand times over, I will.” Another kiss lands on his temple, and he melts under the gentle touch. “I love you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

In times like these where the water is most turbulent, Malcolm is reminded of the purity within Gil, a true heart of gold with a love big enough for the both of them. A life that has witnessed the cruelties of the world, yet refuses to allow such hate cloud his ability to give back and to care for those around him. A love too rich to describe in just four letters, so he relies on his actions to prove its worth.

When the dust settles, they find themselves back in the arms of one another. The admission sinks in, and Malcolm finally nods. “Okay.”

Though they have softened a bit during their exchange, in no time are they back at full tilt, lip locking and desperate, pulling the other close until they can become one again. Malcolm has a hand tangled in Gil’s hair and his arm wrapped around his neck as he floats between quick pecks and breathless moans.

With a love so deep, it’s no surprise to either party when they start sucking each other’s faces like needy teenagers, reigniting the spark that started the fire.

Without warning, Gil breaks away and lifts Malcolm’s ass off of his thighs and spreads him apart until he keens, and bucks his hips hard enough for Malcolm to lose his balance and fall forward. “Come on, baby,” Gil whispers in his ear, a thumb pressing against his flushed cock, “just like we practiced.”

Blood travels down south at the command and sends a chill down his spine. Malcolm scrambles to push himself up using Gil’s biceps until he’s seated perfectly on his lap again, this time with more fervor in his bones and eyes lit with desire to match. If Gil wants to see him like this, then he’s determined to put on an exhilarating performance.

“Lay down.” Malcolm throws his hair back and combs a hand through the loose strands, and darts his tongue out to lick his lips with a smirk. “I want to do this the right way.”

“Whatever you say,” Gil says, releasing his grip on Malcolm and slowly eases back on the bed.

Malcolm quickly repositions himself over Gil’s body, both hands at his side fisting the sheets with locked elbows, and slowly pulls out until the tip catches his rim and stops. He straddles his lap, spreading his legs a little wider as he sinks down on Gil’s cock with a silent moan, feeling every inch of the burn on the way down until he bottoms out with a gasp.

Then it starts. Initial slow, shallow strokes quickly morph into desperate, frantic thrusts as the loft fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin, and the tiny whimpers that fall from Malcolm’s lips. Brows pinched with determination and a sheen of sweat underneath his hairline, he fucks himself on Gil’s cock like it’s the best thing in the world, drunk on the pleasure of feeling stuffed to the brim. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he whines, rolling his hips then shoves them back. “So fucking good.”

The sight of Malcolm bent over like this, so eager to please sets a fire beneath Gil like nothing else, and burns through his need to take Malcolm over the bedrail. “That’s it, baby,” Gil encourages, his hand brushing over Malcolm’s. The softest touch of his fingers over his knuckles and the slightest bit of praise makes his stomach flutter and his cock even harder, leaking as it bounces with every thrust. Gil relishes in the tight squeeze and savors this image, committing it to memory for when he needs it later.

It’s not long before Malcolm’s thrusts lose their rhythm entirely. The dull ache in his arms doesn’t compare to the ache below his waist or the tug of his orgasm just on the horizon. He’s close, he can _feel_ it, but it’s so far out of reach, not enough strength to push himself over the edge.

Gil can tell he’s searching for it, desperate to come on his cock. He shifts ever so slightly underneath him and takes the initiative. He digs his heels into the bed, hooks his palms flat on Malcolm’s ass, and lifts up off the bed in time with his thrusts. “Fuck–!” he cries out, legs trembling at the sudden onslaught. “Yes, yes, yes,” is punched out from Malcolm on every thrust, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy, still bringing his hips down for that glorious stretch.

Eventually, the tidal wave reaches its peak. “I can’t,” is all he can muster, his movements stalling and sputtering as Gil puts in the work to bring him over. His head drops between his shoulders and his arms slack at Gil’s sides, buckling under his own weight, trying his damndest to keep up.

When he falls to Gil’s chest, Gil lifts up off the bed and sets a fast and brutal pace, knowing this is going to be over soon. The grip on Malcolm turns painful as his own orgasm builds in his gut, breathless as he pounds into that tight heat he loves so much.

Malcolm forces himself up off the bed and plants his hands on Gil’s chest, back straight as Gil’s cock rams right into his prostate, and Malcolm throws his head back with a loud cry. “Gil–!” He’s close, so, so close to his release, and way past the point of talking.

“Come for me,” Gil says, voice husky with lust, “show me how good you are.” A few hard thrusts are all Malcolm needs as Gil’s words sink into his bones, throwing his head back again as he comes with a drawn out cry. Gil doesn’t slow for a second, fucking him through his orgasm until the dam finally breaks, and he spills into Malcolm with a strained grunt.

Sated and spent, Gil plants soft, tender kisses to Malcolm’s cheeks while he comes down and rubs soothing circles over the back of his neck, muttering quiet reassurances as if he were to fall apart without them.

They remain intertwined together in bliss. In the midst of their daze, Gil eases out of Malcolm and lays him on his side with a gentle tap on his thigh and watches his eyes drift in and out. At some point, Malcolm gives up and closes his eyes.

A warm, damp cloth makes an appearance, but Malcolm is too tired to focus on the gentle strokes of the towel and Gil’s careful touch across his body.

When Gil finally joins him in bed, he’s suddenly wide awake. They trade lazy kisses back and forth between the sheets with quiet promises that almost sound like vows if they weren’t already naked and in bed. Neither of them mind; they don’t need a piece of jewelry to display what they already know and feel.

A connection this deep will stand the test of time.

Malcolm breaks away when both of their phones light up on the nightstand, alluding to a message that’s meant for the both of them. He rolls over on his side to check, and sure enough, it’s a text from Dani and JT in their text group wishing them a Merry Christmas right on the dot. He distantly wonders why they’re both awake at this hour, but puts the thought aside for now and flips back over to Gil.

“Who was it?” he asks, already shuffling over to reconnect with him.

“Dani and JT,” he relays, quietly drinking in the sight of the man next to him. “Just wishing us a Merry Christmas. Which reminds me…” An arm wraps around Gil’s middle, tugging him close until their foreheads touch and their noses are mere centimeters apart. “Merry Christmas, Gil.”

No matter the distance between them, they always manage to find themselves right back at the start, staring into each other’s eyes without saying much because they don’t need to. Silence is the loudest confession.

“Merry Christmas, Bright.”

They exchange a sweet, languid kiss that feels like it could last a lifetime. A lifetime spent tangled up with each other sounds like heaven on earth if work permitted it as such. However, if this is what awaits them at the end of a long dry spell, then they will happily wait for each other for as long as they have to.

Malcolm can’t deny how full his heart feels. A life where he’s found a home he can come back to within the temple of Gil is a life worth living for. It gives him something to look forward to at the end of the day.

A home he no longer has to run from. The life he’s dreamed of since he was far too young to understand and far too fearful to allow any shred of happiness to come his way.

A home in the arms of the man he loves.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
